


Malfunction

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magic does not always move in linear motions, thus what is to become of Loki when his first target for dominance is Thor and his glo-stick of destiny does not perform as advertised...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Malfunction

**Author's Note:**

> This sits sort of after Avengers, not really following any universe. It’s more of a “what if..?" and some unabashed fondling. PWP, somewhat AU I guess and all that.

“You are evil,” Thor says, leaning over Loki - his flaxen hair hanging in greasy ropes over his face. He smiles; it is full of a malice that Loki has only ever recognized in himself, never in his gladsome fool of a brother. Loki frowns, twisting his wrists in the bonds that cinch his wrists together above his head, and shivers slightly - unease scattering in cold marbles across his bared chest. He wets his lips.

“You say that as though it is a novel concept,” he replies in a hoarse voice. The ropes that encircle his neck are not doing much for his enunciation. He wants to cough, and yet he cannot, he will not give Thor the satisfaction. “But you always knew there could be no good in me.”

“And you scorned me for holding too much hope for the shred of benevolence I knew still existed somewhere under your ire, Loki,” Thor replies, evenly and the backs of his knuckles come down  hard against Loki’s cheekbone before the Trickster can even begin to curl his lip in disgust.  “Do not mock me, brother. I knew it was there, as did you. And that is why you hated me so much.”  
  
“I hate you because you are a sentimental fool!” Loki snarls, drawing in a ragged breath. “Weak, for all your brawn! Cowardly, for all your bravado! You swear against me, you threaten to end me and yet you cannot kill me - you cannot bear to be without me and that is your downfall, brother! I-”  
  
Loki’s tirade ends abruptly with a shuddering gasp as Thor’s fingers dance in a breath of soft touches down his sternum and across his stomach, detailing every fine dip and rise of Loki’s pale torso. The hairs on his arms raise as though coaxed by static and Thor is still smiling.  
  
“You called me brother.” He says, letting his nails slide down the curve of Loki’s hip. “For all your contempt, you still call me brother.”  
  
“A term of mere technicality.”  
  
“And one you have rebuffed, considering we are not of the same blood,” Thor reminds him, slyly. Loki likes that even less than the ticklish actions of his damnable fingers, which dipped lower and lower with each discomfited tremor. Thor was not sly - he thought he was, on occasion, but he’d never been particularly good at it.   
  
“That means very little,” Loki shoots back, trying hard to keep his breathing even, though Thor had now stationed himself between his rope-bitten ankles - still touching, still teasing him like he had when they were children, only the aim of the torture had been so very different in those days.  
  
“It means you cannot bear to give it up.”   
  
“Then you are an idiot who reads too far into a simpl-”   
  
Loki throws back his head, his snarl dissolving into a whine in the back of his throat as Thor’s hand slides over his sex, thumbing the softest area just beneath the swell of the head. His breath gusts sharply over his teeth, and as Thor’s tongue teases the path of his palm, one long, firm stroke drawing the blood to Loki’s interested cock and he is disgusted with himself to find that his prick is hardening in response. Thor does not miss this, though he does not take the opportunity to point it out. He knows it drives Loki to ruin; it does every time. He could make it very easy if he wanted to.  
  
“Do not touch me. Do not touch me you scut, you lout. Do not-”  
  
And yet Loki still fights... Still clings to the idea that Thor hasn’t changed - couldn’t. Still couldn’t believe it was his own error that had been the catalyst for this wretched situation.  
  
It was true that Thor loved Loki too much. That had always been his handicap - always been the weak point Loki knew he could drive his heel into and just twist. It was Thor’s love, Thor’s pathetic sentiment that had been the single link holding them together for thousands of years; even when Loki tried to chisel it away, it was forged anew when Thor forgave him - or saved him from the atrocities of a punishment he probably deserved. It had been the one thing that Loki had thought would ruin Thor completely when he used it against him - purged his thoughts with the blue jewel, pierced magic into his skin and let it bleed up unto his eyes. When Loki made Thor his.  
  
But that wasn’t what had happened. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Loki had no words to explain why the spell acted as it had -  he thought he’d had a grip on the magic, he thought he’d known it through and through and yet it had evolved on him. Changed its effect. He knew that magic was never linear,  but at the same time he’d been so sure - he’d turned so many...  
  
The look on his face would have been worth its weight in gold when Thor had turned on him, seizing his throat in order to toss him through several walls of the SHIELD compound. Before he could even begin to respond, climbing to his feet in several wobbly stages of swiftly fleeing wits, Thor had been on him again, Mjolnir knocking the last of his consciousness away. When he awoke, he found himself stripped and bound. The evidence of Thor’s touches marked his body in bloodied hand prints and they traversed his skin in uncomfortably intimate trails. Thor hadn’t just touched him to bind him, that was evident. Such a discovery worried Loki more than the heavy ropes that held him in place.   
  
“I will touch you as I please, when I please,” Thor says now, punctuating each word with a flick of his tongue to Loki’s weeping prick. “It is no longer my concern whether you like it or not.”  
  
“Are you sated that you  _own_  me now?” Loki hisses, his eyes slit to thin, angry needles. “You disgust me.”  
  
“Your body speaks differently,” Thor tells him, wryly, slipping an open fist over Loki’s straining cock, working it slowly. “For all the silver in your tongue, you cannot even craft a lie to save your pride.”

Loki does not answer him, only moans as Thor’s ministrations bring him closer and closer to the edge. It had been a game at first - at least, that’s as Loki had understood it. When he was conscious, Thor was there - standing in the corner of the room just watching him as though he were little more than a museum exhibit. When he was asleep - having finally fallen victim to the exhausting and the taxing injuries he sported by his brother’s hand - Thor would touch him, fondle him... Loki was sure of it. Every time the world came back to him, he could feel the remnants of Thor's touches; smell the spend that had dried upon his skin.  
  
There was another aroma too, herbs.. a cream perhaps? Some sort of concoction that was keeping Loki weak enough that he could not free himself from Thor’s trap. Where Thor had acquired it from, he could not say, but he had gathered many enemies during his travels through time and space... Perhaps one had been lucky enough to catch him out... Perhaps the Norns had simply pulled their own card against him, he’d bothered them often enough with his schemes, he didn't doubt that their triumvirate had some play in this.  
  
But for all his efforts and plans; for all his cleverness, he had, once again, been left with Thor... Only Thor who  _wasn’t_  Thor. Not the Thor that Loki had envied, not his brother, his tawny nemesis nor the object of his basest ire, no. This Thor was else entirely; a shade of gold that was quicker than silver; cooler, shinier. A facsimile of his younger brother’s wrath who would torture his sibling by simply standing perfectly still in the center of the room, exuding only marginal amounts of presence – which was enough to rake the hairs on the nape of Loki’s neck backwards as much as he had when his blood was up in the battlefield and something close to berserker rage was all that could be read in his eyes.   
  
He’d lasted many days like this, lying pinioned and powerless - Thor standing calmly to one side, never usually interfering but just knowing, just _knowing_ with those damned eyes and that damned smirk turning his lips – that he was one over on his sibling. Then Thor began to touch him while he was awake. A little at first - the tips of his toes, the curve of cartilage forming the shell of his ear. Loki snarled and bucked of course, hissing atrocities, but Thor merely ignored him and left him to wait. And wait...   
  
“You think that you have beaten me?” Loki manages, his fingers clutching together so tight, they are whiter than the spit-flecked enamel of his teeth. He was writhing for release now, his cock aching, hips trembling. “You have not. This cannot last forever, Thor, and when I free myself, I will be sure to throw that misfiring spear through that goatish smirk of yours. You’ll never kill me, brother... you cannot.”  
  
Thor stops and looks at him, blue eyes turgid with mirth. Loki would escape him at some point, surely, but that is not his concern right now - he wonders if he’d even be so concerned when it did happen. For as much as Loki vehemently proclaims that Thor would not kill him, he very much doubts Loki would do the same. Not when he would need to find out why his spell had gone so far awry. Thor’s hand drops abruptly to his side, his task wholly, maddeningly unfinished and he nods as Loki’s mouth twists into a grimace of dissatisfied rage.  
  
“No, I never will,” he replies, mildly. “And that is what makes it so much better.”


End file.
